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A MONODY: TO A FATHER'S 
MEMORY 



SARAH P/MORRISON 



•7„y of COAIQ - , 

NOV 13 K^Sl / 



CAMBRIDGE 

PriateH at t\}t EibersiUe Press 

1891 



o 






Copyright, 1891, 
By SARAH P. MORRISON. 

All rights reserved. 



For now we see through a glass, darkly. — 1 Cor. 
xiii. 12. 



A MONODY: TO A FATHEE'S 
MEMORY.* 

PART FIRST. 



1. O Day of Death, how dark thy gray and 

shadowy wing ; — 
Eclipsed the natural sky, hushed everything. 

2. Within that twilight stands the Past ; its out- 

line clears. 
Thy deeds, Dear Lost, revealed, and my ar- 
rears. 

3. My conscience crouches chill, or like a babe 

when left 
At some cold door to die, wails on bereft. 

4. Of endless, needless love, regret pours all her 

store ; 
How mean that all appears, not poured be- 
fore ! 

5. Time past irreparably ; Love's service incom- 

plete : 
Oh that I 'd first, love spent, died at thy feet ! 

* John J. Morrison, died 1872. 



A MONODY: 



n. 



1. Irrevocably gone! That veil how thick or 

thin ; 
No sound to me. Hears he this poor world's 
din? 

2. Heard there my grieving heart ? my sighs ? 

Think that he sees 
In bliss this look ? Known there such tears 
as these ? 

3. While I find all things dulled : sense beating 

as on drum, 
Muffled beyond response. The heavens are 
dumb. 

4. Where is the soul that lived so nobly silent 

here? 
Thy coffined face I saw, thy funeral bier, 

5. Thy open grave, thy form in grand repose ; 

but where. 
Where thou who fondly watched, escaped our 
care? 

in. 

1. Thou didst not haste to go, but meekly tried 
to live. 
There is a power beyond ; not Death can give 



TO A FATHERS MEMORY. 7 

2. The word to snap the thread, to bid the 

weary rest : 
A servant, he obeys a King's behest. 

3. Then why that sudden word, if we thy off- 

spring dear, 
Great God ? " The blow deserved," I seem 
to hear. 

4. I thought — but now I see : the most I failed 

to know, 
I reached too far and missed, I learned too 
slow. 

5. To follow out my plans, I missed a grander 

scope ; 
Daily before me clear rose larger hope : 

6. Daily a life shone forth I failed to under- 

stand, 
Beneficently beamed, benignant, grand : 

7. My life's sun clear shone forth with !^indly 

steady ray, 
Shown constant to its close ; — woe wovth the 
day! 

8. I saw it near decline ; I knew it soon must 

set. 
I looked. It milder beamed, and, yet,, and 

yet, 



8 A MONODY: 

9. I could not then believe it soon would shine 

no more, 
So peaceful and so calm. Then all was o'er. 

10. As when the sun goes down, diffused the ra- 

diance sheds 
Unwonted light, anew the landscape spreads, 

11. So when he sudden sank into the night of 

Death ; 
Loss I Why did I not yield then my 
breath ? 



rv. 

1. What were thy thoughts. My Dear, 

That day, the last and dread ? 
Oh that my heart had propped 
Thy drooping head ; 

2. My hands and kiss had warmed 

Thy hands, so still and cold ; 
My arm had clasped thee near, 
In loving fold, 

3. Death had not then surprised 

So stealth'ly thee and me ; 
I near, he might not then 
Have taken thee. 



TO A FATHER'S MEMORY. 

4. He stole to thee unthought, 

Alone he found thee, Dear ; 
Him didst thou see ? They say 
Not so ; — I fear. 

5. What were thy thoughts, Dear One, 

The moment just before, 
And all that day ? I ask 
But this — no more. 

6. My heart breaks at the thought 

That thou didst know the last. 
And no one near to help, 
When help was past. 

7. My heart breaks at the thought 

That all that day of dole. 
Though all spoke cheer, yet none 
Spoke to thy soul. 

8. That with us all about, 

No one of us a stay. 
Thy feet sunk deeper down 
That lonely way. 

9. That with us all about, 

And thou a dying man. 

We read not failing powers. 

And countenance wan, 



10 A MONODY: 

10. We read not bright eye dimmed, 

Nor failing pulse and breath ; 
Nothing could make us think 
" This may be death." 

11. We did not mean to be 

So heartless and so dull ; 
Let love, which blinded us. 
Our fault annul. 

12. 'T was foolish, wrong, I know. 

To hope, and seek to cheer ; 
We should have comforted : 
Forgive us. Dear. 



1. Hast thou been comforted. Dear One, this 

weary while? 
Not long, nor oft; but still sometimes I 
smile. 

2. I wonder I can smile, or speak of aught but 

thee. 
Or name with even voice thy name. Ah me ! 

3. In all familiar things I miss thy eye, thy 

hand ; 
Our thoughts in unison : none understand. 



TO A FATHER'S MEMORY. 11 

4. Keeping from hurt or fall my too oft willful 

feet, 
Shaming my foolish pride with reason sweet. 

5. Where are thy careful ways ? The type to 

me is lost ; 
Ah, Father dear, I 've learned ; — at what a 
cost! 

6. There 's no one else like thee. I hate the 

race of men, 
All dwarfs ; my Father I want back again. 

7. I see the beauteous life which seemed a com- 

mon thing ; 
Into the dreariest lot my heart I 'd fling, 

8. To show that I a life could live, not all in vain, 
My Father could I have once back again. 

9. All zest from life is gone. All's wrong. 

There 's nothing good. 
Life faints, and tears are mixt with daily 
food. 



VI. 

1. Not for all living men would I my dear dead 
give; 
'T is worth e'en death to have such memory 
live. 



12 A MONODY: 

2. Some unrequited days he weary spent. 'T is 

worth, 
To know so grand a soul e'er lived on earth. 

3. For now he lives with God. And I ? I live 

to know 
More of the heaven that 's lent to us below. 

VII. 

THE PORTRAIT. 

1. O face of gentle mien, 

Of quiet, lofty power ; 
Of dignity enhanced 
Through nature's dower. 

2. O father's face so kind, 

O precious lines of care ; 
O eye so clear, so true, 
kingly air. 

3. O noble head with brow 

Where thought with goodness dwelled ; 
And breast, where a chaste heart's 
Emotion swelled. 

4. Shoulders that bore their part. 

Nor bent to service mean : 
Soft hair of age, and beard 
Of silvery sheen : 



TO A FATHERS MEMORY. 13 

6. Her gushing tribute pays 

My long pent soul. In thought 
I reverent kiss that beard, 
So life-like wrought. 

6. Upon that breast I lean ; 

That eye I seek, and then 
To God I say, " ShaU this 
Not live again ? " 



VIII. 

AFTER MEMORIAL SERVICE. 

1- The Past is past, Dear One ; 
Of thee, our best, bereft, 
To cherish what we can 
Is all that's left. 

2. Not garments still to hoard, 

Nor everything to keep. 
Which thou didst dying leave 
With us who weep. 

3. Thou wast not one to hold 

Within a tightened grasp 
E'en all thou mightst have claimed 
We only clasp 

4. A few things called thine own ; 

Too few : mementoes these, 



14 A MONODY: 

Of one who lived not most 
Himself to please ; 

5. Of one who gave long since, 

That with a father's care 
We might the more enjoy 
And freer share. 

6. Oh ! when a broken band 

We sat, the seal we broke, 
Each heart in sweet accord 
With him who spoke ; — 

7. Though dead and powerless then, 

Our wills how potent bent 
To see fulfilled his dying 
Testament ! 

8. " To my beloved wife ; " — 

Poor Mother, feeling more. 
As day adds day to day. 
Bereavement sore. 

9. Her conscious mind his loss 

At every turn must face ; 
His goodness cause of grief, 
For void his place. 

10. Before his portrait sitting 

She 's older grown and fades ; 



TO A FATHER'S MEMORY. 15 

Too much, I 'm sure, her thoughts 
It over-shades : 

11. Too poignant brings the sense 

Of separation keen : 
Silence has fallen for time 
Their lives between. 

12. That arm's support, her days 

Lonely indeed without ; — 
I wonder what my heart 
Has been about. 

13. Ah, Sister mine ! thou knowest, 

Widowed in youth's fair flower : 
The bond close knit between, 
In sorrow's hour. 

14. Long has the dust reposed 

Of that youthful husband dead : 
Long has the grass been green 
Above his head. 

15. Thou long hast worn the garb 

Of woe, widowed indeed, 
From his grave a flower thou 'st plucked 
For Mother's need. 

16. Sympathy's bloom so pure : 

Mother, the blossom see ! 



16 A MONODY: 

Its perfume is all about ; — 
Sweet Sympathy ! 



IX. 

AFTER THE GOLDEN WEDDING ANNIVERSARY. 

1. In the old home burial ground 

Kindred and neighbors lie ; 
Thick sown their ranks, and rare 
Their company. 

2. Not in that time-dear place, 

His grave whom most we mourn ; 
To a lovely spot, his choice, 
His form was borne. 

3. First of us all to rest 

In the lonely silent plot ; 
Place then how dear, never 
To be forgot. 

4. Near a city great it lies ; 

We may see it any day ; 
It was strewn with Golden-Rod 
On the Wedding Day. 

5. We crowned our mother with gifts. 

Affection's golden shower ; 
Loss weighed on our hearts, a stone, 
We had scarcely power 



TO A FATHER'S MEMORY. 17 

6. Not to weep that day all day, 

So much we had thought in the past, 
Of fruition upon its wings ; — 
It was over at last. 

7. But we comfort another's heart 

By moving our own to do ; 
And living our lives aright, 
We live Hfe through. 



X. 

EASTER. 

1. The joyful seasons come, 

The Christmas Tide, the year 
New ushered in ; then morn 
Of morns most dear. 

2. Dear Risen Lord, their joys 

With buds of hope are wreathed 
Though on their golden prime 
A sigh is breathed, 

3. A tear let fall on bloom. 

As on our gifts that day, 
When the Wedding Golden came 
And gone our stay : — 

4. Dear Brother Christ, we lean 

Our woeful hearts on thee ; 



18 A MONODY: 

With him, bring us to thy 
Felicity ! 

XI. 

AN INTERLUDE : A RETROSPECT OF DECORATION 
DAT. 

1. On Decoration Day, 

By a soldier's grave I stood, 
And thought while others spoke, 
" How brave ! How good ! " 

2. A marble shaft uprose 

To claim, " Here honor due ! " 
Where in the graveyard old 
The long grass grew. 

3. Near by ancestral dust 

Made ever dear the place ; 
The tombs, so old and worn, 
Had homely grace. 

4. Above the stones moss-grown, 

With quaint inscriptions crost, 
The fragrant branches gay 
In wildness tost. 

5. There as I reverent stood, 

And scanned them round, and thought 
Of changes which the years 
Since then had wrought, 



TO A FATHER'S MEMORY. 19 

6. How far removed their plane 

From human action seemed ; 
How worthless and how small 
Things most esteemed. 

7. " Nothing," I said, " is gold. 

Nothing high place or fame ; 
Nothing, save heart of truth 
And worthy name." 

8. The monumental shaft, 

More recent dust above ; 
Silent I stood. My heart 
Asked, " Is this love ? 

9. Old friend, best comrade e'er, 

School champion, then lover. 
And later pleasant friend, 
Didst thou discover 

10. That night, when by thy chair 

A little while I stood. 
With pity's smile all faint. 
In melting mood, 

11. That I was nearest love 

To thee I 'd ever been ? — 
Pity and love are said 
To be akin. 



20 A MONODY: 

12. At that plain view of doom, 

So fell, so near at hand, 
I touched thy chair's wide arm 
With leaning hand ; 

13. And then with talk around, 

We spoke of recent war ; 
Thy smile the same, thine eye 
The same kind star. 

14. The past had hold on me, 

During our interview. 
But if thy thoughts went back, 
I never knew. 

15. Wast thou a hero then. 

Grander than in the strife ? 
Nor gave least sign of wish 
To link with thine my life ? 

16. Or haply hadst thou now 

Banished all deeper thought, 
Save of thy coming fate 
So nearly brought ? 

17. My hero still the same! 

Even if other love 
Had ever caused thy heart 
From me to move. 



TO A FATHER'S MEMORY. 21 

18. If country dear, or long 

Unreasoning despite 
Had changed thy constant heart 
To yield me quite, 

19. I 'd think the more of thee 

To tire of my unworth ; 
This love ? In self-contempt 
It sprang to birth. 

20. I know not at what call 

I went that time from thee ; 
As one might careless say, 
'T was destiny. 

21. But this I know : my heart 

Regretful lingered there, 
I stood in spirit still 
Beside thy chair. 

22. Cheerful our talk the while 

And kind, — at last mine kind. 
And then about the war ; 
I call to mind 

23. This ripple on smooth stream : 

"And when they fight," asked I, 
" How do men look ? " " Like beasts," 
Was thy reply. 



22 A MONODY: 

24. " Ah, sunny soul ! " I mused, 
" It did thee violence. 
And now thy life cut short 
Pays the offense." 



25. Farewell, true friend in love ; 

Who learning my hard heart, 
So loved as to efface 
Offense. No art 

26. Taught thee disguise, but love 

From boyhood years to prime 
Kept fast thy faith in love, 
And made sublime 

27. A simple heart. No plaint 

Embittered speech, unsoured 
Within that nature sweet. 
Thy being flowered 

28. Into serener peace. 

As frank and kind, a touch 
More rare put on ; to say, 
Love's grace were such, 

29. One could not love, and not 

Be glad, and yet too dear 
The passion to be named 
Save in Love's ear ! 



TO A FATHER'S MEMORY. 23 

30. And this the character 

I flouted at, and deemed 
Too simple, commonplace. 
And disesteemed ! 

31. I know thee better now, — 

I '11 think thee home above, — 
" Farewell ! and what is not 
Regret, is love." 



XII. 

1. Father, thou wouldst not mind, 

Or think a simple lay, 
Did thee a wrong, as some 
Might wiser say. 

2. And that it has no place, 

Whatever its intent, 
In this poor verse of mine, 
Yet heart's lament ? 

3. No ! Had some power but swept 

Away the guard reserve ! — 
'T is gone. I 'm nearer thee : 
Thus would death serve ? 

4. Ah ! now since death has come 

And placed a veil between. 
My heart I open all. 
Nor seek to screen. 



24 ^ MONODY: 

5. If I could only know- 

That thou 'rt not so removed, 
As not to see and know 
My love thus proved ! 

6. I '11 take the good I can, 

And think that thou dost hear, 
And see and know, and bend 
To me thy ear. 

7. For once if I had told 

Such thing to thee, my Dear, 
Thou wouldst have had in that 
Kind eye a tear. 

8. Thou wouldst have said with smile, 

" How came our child to be 
Of poets' tribe ? She got 
It not from me ! " 

9. Yet thou, my Father dear, 

For those great sons of Time 
Hadst large respect, voicing 
Their songs sublime. 

10. Old Homer's sounding verse 

I 've heard thee measured roll, 
And Milton's mighty chime 
Swept deep thy soul. 



TO A FATHERS MEMORY. 25 

11. And yet thy heart a child's 

To feel the simplest thing 
That could to others joy 
Or sorrow bring. 

12. There 's no one else like thee 

My Dearest and my Best ! 
God give to thee his peace 
And choicest rest ! 



13. I seem to hear thee say, 

" Oh ! did my child thus feel ? 
I fear my heart at times 
Seemed sheath of steel." 

14. No matter for those days, 

My Father dear, they 're past. 
I always knew thy heart 
Was soft, steadfast. 

15. I crept not far enough ; 

Many the times I might ; 
Thy daughter could not, Dear, 
Sue for her right ! 

16. Yet who can tell the strength 

Of the allegiance fond, 
Binding my heart to thine 
In earliest bond ! 



26 ^ MONODY: 

17. But now — O now ! How much 

Have we ! Thy blessedness ! 
And I ? To speak my heart's 
Love and distress. 

18. 'T is not enough ; my heart 

Cannot be comforted ; 
I 'd climb to heaven, creep in 
The grave, thy bed. 



19. grave that draws my heart. 

My father is not there : 
Only his body waits 
Renewal fair. 

20. But if it draws my heart, 

Must he not bend his gaze 
Sometimes to better view 
Earth's brief amaze ? 

21. heavens unsoiled by death ! 

Bend with him, till I know 
That there he waits for me 
Till I too go ! 

xm. 

MAT 30. 

1. At the Capitol I saw 

Last year on Soldiers' Day, 



TO A FATHERS MEMORY. 27 

Sculptured in white, a thought 
To live for aye : 

2. 'T was Memory with pen 

Writing the page for Grief ; 
Grief leaning weeping lorn 
'Mid her flowery wreath. 

3. A weeping Grief I lean 

'Gainst Memory's dear cheek ; 
She writes these thoughts which I 
Could never speak. 



PART SECOND. 

XIV. 

1. This is the fatal day^ when thou a year 

ago 
Didst sacrifice thy life. How couldst thou so ? 

2. Didst yield that vital spark too long to cold 

and storm ? 
Nothing that current chilled could ever warm. 

3. Duty, stern of face, how dost thou drive 

and goad 
The patient, steadfast soul, till 'neath thy load 



28 A MONODY: 

4. With force all spent it sinks, but turns its 

thankful eye 
To bless thee for its smarts, and so, to die. 

5. To bless thee, who dost burst upon its filmy 

view 
A splendor of God's love, in aspect new ; 

6. And take into the arms of everlasting rest, 
And pillow the poor head upon Love's breast. 

7. But this the fatal day ; — no wonder that the 

doom 
Breathing upon the trees enrobed in bloom, 

8. Gave omen dark and dire, during the fitful 

night, 
And showed to morning's view the frost's fell 
blight. 

9. fatal, fatal day ! — Though love foreboded 

ill. 
None knew him so near death, nor knew he 
still. 

10. And friends and neighbors pass with cus- 

tomary tread, 
Not knowing they shall soon exclaim, " He 's 
dead ! " 



TO A FATHERS MEMORY. 29 

11. "Day of anger. Day" — And I? I too 

lived on, 
And breathed the perfumed air, reveling in 
sun. 

12. How little then I knew, in the far sweet 

South away. 
The mandate that went forth that bitter day ! 

13. How little thought, on sea or river's flow, or 

sand 
Of sunny beach, 'neath shade in flowery land, 

14. Scenting the oranges' bloom, scanning the 

beauteous shell. 
How little did I think save, " All is well ! " 

15. Shame on thee, luring Hope ! To fool us at 

our ease, 
Leaving me now to say, "What now can 
please ? " 

16. " If I had only known." " We 'U meet with 

freshened heart," 
I thought. This now my grief, — "so much 
apart." 

17. Oh ! when the warning comes, had we but 

lived to give 
Service that breathed, " If God shall grant 
Hfe, Hve." 



30 A MONODY: 

18. If we had only stayed our loved one close 

beside, 
Whisp'ring, " I 'U serve him well, whate'er 
betide ! " — 

19. My worthless life prolonged, I'll try the 

more to be 
More of that spirit which he wished in me. 

XV. 

INTERLUDE SECOND. 

1. The Spring came sudden, fleet ; 
When on an April day. 
Listless o'er even lawn 
I looked away. 



2. " Come ! " cried the children, " Come ! 

And seized my nerveless hand ; 
" Come to the woods with us, 
A joyous band ! 

3. " You liked the first spring flowers ! " 

And so I went to please, 
They dancing on before, 
Light as the breeze. 

4. How pure the woodland air ! 

How sweet the opening view ! 



TO A FATHER'S MEMORY. 31 

All life how murmurous, 
How blissful grew ! 

5. The soft ground yielding life, 

The budding woods yet bare ; 
Anemones tremulous stood, 
And violets fair. 

6. Spring beauties too, their pink 

In loveliness displayed. 
How very fair and good 
All thus arrayed. 

7. The children flew about 

Like bees from flower to flower ; 
The genial sun and air 
Dispense their dower ; 

8. While stainless arches high 

The delicate, limpid blue ; 
And earth's dark robe once more 
Is 'broidered new. 

9. Saith Nature soft to me, 

" Grief -stricken one, take rest ; 
The winter 's been too long. 
Lean on my breast." 

10. " There is a grave," I said, 

" Trees grand as these surround ; 



32 A MONODY: 

Their foliage soon again 
Will shade the ground ; 

11. " And sometimes when I think 

Of that most precious dust 
Sleeping in quiet there, 
In angels' trust, 

12. " It seems that change in us 

Must do it some despite, 
As if not of our ways 
Unconscious quite." 

13. " I know not," Nature said. 

I made reply, " I know 
Quite well, that he not there, 
It is not so. 

14. " But from above, his grave 

Now green, does he not see 
His body there ? " " It may 
Be so," said she. 

15. " Then can he not see all ? — 

The flowers, the wood, and Oh ! 
See us ? Hear what we say ? " 
" It may be so." 

16. I clasped my hands ; — "I wish 

More of his state I knew ! 



TO A FATHERS MEMORY. 33 

Wise friend, canst thou not give 
Some certain clue ? " 

17. " No clue to that," said she, 

" But this I can surmise. 
That he from out that grave 
Again shall rise." 

18. "Well do I know that truth," 

I said. " The promise thrills ; 
But a bridge to him my heart 
Impetuous wills. 

19. " Death 's such a gulf ! " A bird 

Sang sudden overhead ; 
Forlorn I sat. " A bridge," 
She mildly said. 

20. The fairest, frailest thing 

Of all came waving by ; 
Its wings of gossamer fresh 
As vernal sky. 

21. " See token here/' cried she, 

" The witness of the spring ; 
And best, the hutterfly 
Upon the wing." 

22. " Yes, yes, I know," I sighed, 

" God lives, 't is glorious truth." 



34 A MONODY: 

" Then why," she gently asked, 
"MychHd, thyruth?" 

23. " Oh, dreadful parting here, 

And silence. He is dead. 
The time 's so long ! " I mourned. 
" Time long ? " she said. 

24. "He did not know me all," 

I said, and then I wept ; 
" Perhaps he knows all now," 
She silence kept. 

25. " I did not know how far 

My love for him surpassed 
All other love of mine." 
" Hast loved ? " she asked. 

26. " There 's nothing for me left 

But on God's truth to rest." 
" Ah, God is good," she said, 
" To trust Him, best. 

27. " Take heart, my child, believe 

That God is love, nor lost 
A sigh or tear. The sun 
Is good, the frost. 

28. " He brings the seasons round ; 

And gives the rainbow's cheer. 



TO A FATHER'S MEMORY. 35 

For storm and drought has use ; 
He crowns the year. 

29. " And shall He not take care 

Of thee, for whom all these ? 
Of thee, one chief est made 
Himself to please ? 

30. " / know not ; but how strange 

For thee had He not store 
Of all that He has told 
Me of, — and more ! " 

31. The scene glowed as she spoke ; 

The children called and then 
My troop fiower-laden, flushed, 
Home slow again 

32. Were led ; each childish frame 

Lapsed into weary sense, 
My being quieted 
In Providence. 

XVI. 

CROWN HILL, INDIANAPOLIS. 

July. 

1. Sweet grounds and grave most dear ! 
Through winding avenue 
And shaded vista cool, — 
A nearer view ! 



36 A MONODY: 

2. The forest growth with scent 

Of woodland, wild and sweet ; 
Where bird and squirrel find home, 
And flowerets greet 

3. Sad eyes, and zephyrs fresh 

Salute the mourner's cheek. 
Cool after sultry drive : 
These scarcely speak 

4. Of that beyond : the fair. 

Swelling expanse of hill 
And vale and shaven lawn. 
The City Still. 

5. Domain where rest the dead ; 

How shines each lettered stone ! 
Deeply engraven here 
Grief's monotone. 

6. The strong, the wise, the young, 

The fair, the loved, here meet : 
Here pause. Ended the race 
And stilled the feet. 



7. Were I so near that I 

Could daily come, and be 
Beside his grave, like her 
In minstrelsy, 



TO A FATHER'S MEMORY, 37 

8. She simply wise ; I too 

Might " sit and sing " for love 
Of him, and yet I know 
He is above. 

9. But now, O grave ! My eyes 

Take thee into my heart. 
' T is right that thou shouldst be 
Just thus apart ; 

10. In greenness solitary, 

Flecked with tender shade, 
The dearest, saddest spot 
Was ever made ! 

11. How rank the grass is grown ! 

Not yet a year, — some days 
It seems since lingeringly 
The last fond gaze ; 

12. But oh, for him, how long 

To be away ! Around 
I walk, — ray heart takes in 
The lowly mound. 

13. Memorial marble soon 

Will guide to where he lies ; 
That sleeping dust unseen 
God's eye descries. 



38 A MONODT. 

14. O precious jewel hid ! 

Not lost in slow decay ; 
Immortal to burst forth, — ■ 
God speed the day ! 

15. Not now that face I 'd scan ; 

Could it in no more pride 
Appear than once, / should 
Be satisfied ; 

16. Save that I know that form 

In glorified array 
Shall come immortal forth, - 
God speed the day ! 



XVII. 

INTERLUDE THIRD: THE BUTTERFLY. 

1. From lonely, peaceful place 

Our homeward course we wended ; 
Our drive from grave to gate 
Not unattended. 

2. Rising upon our view, 

To come and go 

To and fro, 
Was an escort fine and new. 
A butterfly bright came, 
Our airy servitor. 



TO A FATHER'S MEMORY. 39 

Or from what kingly court 
Ambassador ? 

3. Fashioned by hand divine, 

Wings closed or spread, 
Down, o'erhead. 
Were touched in rare design. 
Their blending tints were like 

My young companion's gown. 
A leaf from elysian fields 
Seemed floating down. 

4. The beauteous thing so slight, 

As everywhere 
Here and there, 
Seemed fancy's shuttle bright. 
The air an ample loom. 

Threading its pretty way, 
The butterfly allured 
Us by its play. 

5. Caressingly it came. 

First in, then out. 

And round about. 

Obsequious, not tame. 

Yet lightly anywhere. 

By moments sat so still, 
A jeweled ornament 
It seemed at will. 



40 A MONODY: 

6. As it a pattern wrought, 

It passed, repassed, 
Slow or fast ; 
And sombre woof of thought, 
Touched as by angel's hand, 

Took on a golden hue ; 
My heart her curtains dark 
Slow back withdrew. 

7. Blest sense of heavenly care, 

Near brought delightsome 
Thing so lightsome, 
Weaving in ambient air. 
Uninfluenced seemed caprice 

Of motion free, or rest. 
Yet teaching me in need 
That trust is best. 

8. As I with death communed, 

The nimble, airy. 
Flitting, fairy, 
Gay butterfly attuned 
To loving thought of God ; 
Bright hint of life to be. 
Which Nature's parted lip 
Breathes unto me ! 

9. Neath eye supreme its pleasure 

Runs brimming over. 
Fluttering rover 



TO A FATHER'S MEMORY. 41 

In fields of joy ! thou measure 
Enwreathing without toil. 

Still rather give me sorrow, 
For thou, waif of a day ! 

Hast no to-morrow. 

10. From our admiring view, 
It, fancy's fay. 
Flitted away ; 
But none the less we knew, 
Late writ on limpid air, 

The heavenly love that bended. 
And from the cherished grave 
Our way attended. 



XVIII. 

THE OLD settlers' MEETING. 
{At Salem, August.) 

1. The storm retreating, rolls 

Its diapason deep ; 
The op23osing hill's vast flank 
The free winds sweej) : 

2. Upon the left, withdrawn 

In misty folds, the rain ; 
High float the airy clouds 
O'er freshened plain. 



42 A MONODY: 

3. In amphitheatre 

We sat, of nature's green, 
And list thy name, while smiles 
The sylvan scene. 

4. Thy name, thy name, my dear. 

Recurring often there ; 
Worthy the old, old place, 
The scene so fair. 

5. But oh, to miss thee so, 

'Mid those who used to be 
Thy mates, who often since, 
In sympathy, 

6. Clasped, dear, thy hand, thine eye 

Met with a welcome fond : — 
I sit with them, but gone 
The perfect bond. 

7. They feel their loss ; ah, friends 

Of his be mine ! None knew 
Him well as I. My being 
Held the clew. 

8. The man who loved him well. 

And whom he loved the same, 
I love, whate'er his mien, 
His craft, his name. 



TO A FATHER'S MEMORY. 43 

9. The hand that joined his hand, 
In friendship's clasp sincere, 
That hand I clasp in mine 
With smile and tear. 

10. The hospitable board, 

Where he an honored guest, 
Its food, it seems to me. 
Would taste the best. 



11. Blessings upon the roof, 

The home, the life, the heart. 
Of any who with him 
Have borne their part ! 



XIX. 

NOVEMBER. 

1. September's sunny smiles are gone, — en- 

chanted days, 
October's russet gold and dreamy haze. 

2. A butterfly lay light, 't was dead, on autumn 

leaves : 
A flower, frost-touched, it fell from life's fair 
sheaves. 

3. Now chill November calls to faith through 

mists of death. 
The trees like spectres stand : O south wind's 
breath ! 



44 A MONODY: 

4. About their roots thy warmth again shall 

cause to flow 
The hidden springs, the trees again shall grow. 

5. When shall more potent power dissolve an 

icier spell ? 
Breathe me death's winter o'er, and all is 
well! 

XX. 

WINTER. 

(December.) 

1. Beneath the frozen ground 

Thou liest ; the sleet, the snow ; 
Around the wintry winds 
Wild, ruthless blow. 

2. Within my mourning heart. 

Thy memory, dear and fair, 
Imperishably shines, 
Its jewel there. 

3. The drops of tender pride 

Slow well, then glisten, fall ; 
Gentlest of hearts ! I did 
Not know thee all. 

4. It hardly comforts me. 

That from the rough world's ways 
Serene are sheltered now 
Thy larger days. 



TO A FATHER'S MEMORY. 45 

5. The sigh that heaved thy breast, 

I sigh it o'er again, — 
These tears first dimmed thy eyes. 
My prince of men ! 

6. Beyond, thou liv'st removed 

From this low, sombre plane. 
I lift my eyes, I view 
Thy certain gain. 

7. Clothed with immortal life, — 

What may that wonder be ? 
So happy, I too almost 
In loss of thee. 

8. Roaming the realms of light 

With many a bright compeer ; 
Viewing the Saviour's face, 
Nor cloud nor fear ; 

9. How blest ! Ah, not yet quite 

Thy state of bliss complete : 
We wait — " The Lord in the air " 
His saints shall meet. 

10. Then Death and the Grave shall yield 
Their unforgotten prey. 
And earth's poor glimmer fade 
Into heaven's day ! 



46 A MONODY: 

11. PerKaps before that time 

1 11 go to thee, — would I ? 
Yet cling I to this life 
So tame. Ah why ? 

12. So fettered, sad and lorn ; 

So weak, so short, so vain : 
With fear and doubt beset, 
With ill and pain. 

13. I live because God wills ; 

Life 's dear, — grim Death I hate, 
'T is strange, — yet if I might 
I 'd always wait. 

14. How strange in heaven, perchance, 

This wish to linger here : 
That land fair of the leal, 
This of the bier. 

15. I sigh at the future lone ; 

I yearn for that happier day ; 
I mourn for our parted lot, — 
It is not for aye. 



TO A FATHER'S MEMORY. 47 

XXI. 

NEW year's eve. 
Who givethjsongs in the night. — Job xxxv. 10. 

1. Sad Memory trims her lamp relit from after- 

glow, 
Warm flushes in my sky now come and go. 

2. Not day's aurora this, but bloom of night so 

strange. 
As if to speak of things known after change. 

3. As if he entering, space was left that we might 

see 
A glory glimpse, a gleam of heaven to be. 



XXII. 

MIDNIGHT. 

1. My sun is sunk in night : 

The shades will not away ; 
The day shall not arise 
Until that day. 

2. I leave you, dear, with God : 

My times are in his hand ; 
O'er life, death, being, all, 
His purpose grand. 



48 A MONODY. 

3o I leave you, dear, with God, — 
My times He ruleth o'er ; 
The morn comes and the night, — 
I can no more. 



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